Phippilotes's Second Folly
by owlofathena
Summary: A tongue-in-cheek look at the world of MM/HG fan-fiction. One-shot. References to other characters/ships.


_Hi. Been a long time. _

_It's fairly amazing that there are now over 300 fics about this pairing (romantic and other) on this site. And that doesn't even begin to include the multi-chapter ones. Um, hooray?_

_Alright, enough of diversionary tactics intended to disguise the fact that I'm about five months overdue on my last chaptered story. I'm stuck on the third (final) chapter, VERY STUCK, so I did a complete about-face and the below was the end result. _

_It's..um...a little __**different**_ _that my usual stuff. _

_MM/HG fiction has several predominating clichés and I thought it might be nice to turn them on their head for a story. And on that line of thought – it must be stated that this story was written with absolutely no intent of mocking any particular writers – just the tropes that are common to the MM/HG ship (many of which I myself am guilty of using in my own stories). _

_Tongue firmly in cheek here..._

* * *

Hermione Granger, nineteen years old as of the previous September, her Head Girl badge pinned perfectly to the front of her school robes, made her way down the corridor to her Head of House's office. It was five minutes past curfew and the halls were completely empty of students, all of whom were prepping for their exams which would begin the following week.

With a final glance about her, she tentatively knocked on Professor McGonagall's office door. It swung open on its hinges as soon as her knuckles had left the wood. With a deep breath, she readjusted her blouse under her robes and stepped inside the room. As Hermione had predicted, Minerva McGonagall was seated behind her walnut desk. The tall witch was dressed in her teaching robes – dark green – and surrounded by large piles of parchment. A cup of tea was steaming in her hands.

'Miss Granger.'

'Professor.' Hermione said demurely, ducking her head slightly, her blonde highlights catching the candlelight in the room. 'I'm sorry I'm late, the stairs moved and I got stuck between the fifth and sixth floor.'

Setting her teacup down beside her paperwork, the Scottish witch frowned at her pupil.

'Hermione, I've told you many times now to call me by my first name. Despite the oft-stressed dangers of training in animagus transformation, I selected you for these personal sessions because I knew that your overachieving self just didn't have enough NEWTs to study for. Please call me Minerva. '

Large, long-lashed chocolate eyes widened even further and the Head Girl swayed on her feet as if she has suddenly come over faint and was about to drop to the floor.

'Oh Minerva,' Hermione began in a throaty voice, miraculously staying upright. 'After saving me from my physically abusive father when I was just a twelve-year-old and taking me to the safety of Hogwarts, I think of you as a mother-figure. When I was younger, I was sometimes tortured by dreams of being beaten by him, but comforted in your arms when I sneaked down to your private rooms and climbed into your gigantic crimson and gold trimmed, oak-board bed with majestic carvings of wild animals on the headboard. '

'They are nice carvings, aren't they?' the seated witch interjected, taking a sip of tea.

'I like the two lionesses in particular,' Hermione smiled shyly, before continuing on. 'The maternal connection fostered between us makes it even more difficult to reconcile the growing feelings I have for you.'

'Feelings?' the dark-haired woman gasped out. It was a melodic sound.

'I first felt them during the private dance lessons before the Yule Ball in my fourth year.' The brunette heaved a heartfelt sigh, her surprisingly ample bosom heaving with the effort. 'It was then that I first noticed your graceful form, when your slim body was pressed close to mine, and from then on my nights were haunted by impure thoughts.'

'Miss Granger!' Minerva exclaimed, clearly shocked at what her student was implying. 'What are you...why...'

'I even wrote some romantic sonnets to put my conflicted emotions towards you into words, and slipped them into your teaching bag while Umbridge was terrorizing the school.'

'That was you?' The woman half-rose in her seat, both hands on her desk. 'I thought it was the Weasley twins having lark!

Hermione ignored her.

'My affections deepened in the events of the war. When I woke up in the Hospital Wing after being rescued from the Death Eaters when I was in my sixth year, yours was the first face I sought. Who else would be able to understand the brutal treatment that Lucius Malfoy had forced on me, when you yourself had been violated by Tom Riddle when you were younger.'

'I still cry myself to sleep over that.' Minerva murmured, strangely no longer angry about her student's admission of attraction. 'I bore that monster Bellatrix from our union, although I never told anyone of it save yourself.'

'-And she grew up in a Slytherin family unaware of her parentage and went on to foster an unhealthy sexual attraction to you that persists even to this day,' her student finished for her. Hermione's voice changed to a more conversational tone, and she added almost as an afterthought, 'You really need to put a stop to that, by the way.'

Minerva dipped her head so that she was looking over the tops of her glasses, grey eyes steely. 'Don't get clever, Miss Granger, stick to the script.'

'Sorry.' The brunette mumbled out apologetically before continuing in a louder, theatrical voice, sounding as if she was reading from a hidden teleprompter. 'But after rescuing me after my second abduction during the war, in which I nearly died under torture at the hands of the Death Eaters, you nursed me back to health in your private mansion in the middle of the Scottish Highlands.'

'Indeed,' Minerva agreed dryly, sitting back in her chair, 'the absence of any potion ingredients in my house or an escape route past the Death Eaters outside seemed almost contrived. If we hadn't discovered that mysterious pagan ritual of protection that required us to act out certain rites while unclothed and covered in blue pigment and mud, I'm not sure how we would have found a way out.'

Hermione smiled as she gazed tenderly at the dark-haired woman behind the desk. 'I couldn't have imagined a more romantic ambiance for that second kiss than in that circle of stones in the windswept peaks of the North.'

'_Second_ kiss?' One of the witch's elegant eyebrows had lifted marginly upwards.

'Don't you remember the enchanted mistletoe hanging in that doorway that one lonely Christmas during my sixth year?'

'Ah, yes, Potter enchanted it with a Containment spell. I gave him detention for a month of Thursdays if I recall.'

'And then at the defeat of Voldemort, after I kissed you and confessed to my passionate feelings for you, you rebuffed me, saying that any relationship would never work because I would always be thought by the wizarding world as an innocent pupil that you had seduced. The many months of crying over that taught me never to give my heart freely to anyone, and I promised myself that I would never let myself think of you in that fashion again.'

A lone tear trickled down the young woman's cheek to punctuate the speech's poignancy.

'And we have acted as if we are simply teacher and student since then, Hermione.' Minerva finished quietly, her voice sounding oddly strained. 'Why are you bringing this up tonight? Why are you tempting me again – don't you understand how difficult this is? For _both_ of us?'

'But...'

'No!' The Scottish witch was clearly angry now, and her dark eyes flashed at the young woman's interruption. 'Miss Granger, you came here to work on your animagus form, and that is what we are going to do. So, last week we working on visualizing your form and tonight we'll...'

'Minerva,' Hermione interrupted her again, stepping closer to the desk. 'I've come here tonight to tell you something important. Please hear me out.'

Her teacher raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

'You remember when we Apparated to safety when we were chased by those Death Eaters at the Final Battle and got caught up for a few seconds in that strange magical phenomenon with all the flashing lights and ethereal angelic chorus chanting in Gaelic?

Minerva frowned. 'When a booming voice from the sky said that that particular moment heralded a new beginning for wizarding kind?'

Hermione took a step forward towards the desk so that she was standing right in front of her teacher.

'It turns out that the ritual had an unexpected side-effect.'

'Such as?'

'I'm pregnant.'

The tall woman behind the desk sat in wide-eyed, stunned silence.

'With twins.' Hermione finished, before softly adding, 'You're a mother, Minerva.'

In the oddest of responses to this startling news, Minerva began to laugh.

'Stop that!' Hermione reprimanded once she had registered her professor's reaction. 'I haven't even got to the part where our union was blessed by a divine entity and our children save the universe.'

Unable to help herself, the Scottish witch collapsed to her desk in a cascade of laughter, beating the surface with the palm of her hand.

'CUT!'

A furious man of limited stature, wearing a cheesecutter cap, marched out from behind a false wall that had previously been unnoticed, and towards the two witches, carrying a black folio of papers and a wearing a frustrated expression on his face. He was quite clearly displeased.

'Can't you two be serious for once!' he blustered. 'We're on an impossible schedule as it is – there's barely an hour left to wrap up this scene and move on to the bedroom. Christ! Even if we recut some of our earlier clips, we'll still be strained for time!'

'_Serious_?' Although she was still chuckling, Minerva's voice had a steely core to it. 'It's a wonder I can even keep a straight face for more than ten seconds! Windswept peaks? Ethereal angelic chorus? Good god, it's as if your script-writer has been plagiarizing off all the worst bits of the Mary Sue stories.' The dark-haired witch glanced down at a piece of parchment that was enchanted to fit in with the rest of the papers on the desk. 'Oh, and this is _priceless_. CHILDREN? Alteration of gametes is one of the Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration! There is absolutely no way magical or otherwise..._none whatsoever_...that Miss Granger and I could produce children – even if we wished to.'

'If you keep on interrupting us with these trivial details, we'll never be finished.' the director complained, flipping through a sheaf of paper. 'For God's sakes, you missed your cue for the fainting spell twice now, and we haven't even got to the discussion about your wedding yet!'

You could have heard a pin drop.

'Our...**WEDDING**!'

Minerva's voice spoke _volumes _about how she felt about this news. The sound man next to the seated witch nervously shuffled back, raising his fluffy boom up and away to safety.

'It's on page 4,' said the director airily. 'The ring's in your desk drawer, second one down. A talking Thestral who is really your family's sacred animal will officiate. It's all there in the script.'

The dark-haired woman stared at him, stricken beyond all belief.

'You get to wear a kilt,' Hermione added hopefully. 'And a sword named 'Excalibur' that's twice as powerful as Gryffindor's.'

The young witch did not seem to be nearly as disturbed as her teacher about all of this

Shaking her head slowly, the Scottish witch stared at them both. 'Don't be absurd - only men wear kilts – and whatever would I do with a sword? I'm a _witch_, not a Knight of the Round Table. Why would I need to stab great messy holes in people if I have my wand?'

Upon hearing that there would be no kilt or sword at their wedding, Hermione lips tilted into what was unmistakably a pout.

'-And after the wedding then there's the steamy sex scene from page 5 through 18,' the man continued blithely, ignoring his two leading ladies. 'Grant you, most of the second half is melodic moaning and purring.'

There was an audible snap of something breaking and Minerva's dark hair unexpectedly fell out of its bun and tumbled across her shoulders and down her back in soft, silky waves.

Reactions differed. The witch's dark eyes rolled heavenwards in an expression of utmost suffering while Hermione looked positively delighted at this change of hairstyle. The man in the hat turned an unflattering shade of puce and noisily crumpled a sheaf of notes in his fist.

'Oh for Pete's sake, not again -' he complained in a nasal whine before grabbing his microphone and yelling into it. '- I need Wardrobe on set right now!'

'God give me strength.' Minerva muttered under her breath. 'Not _that_ awful woman.'

Even Hermione looked worried at the news, frowning as she readjusted her top under her school robes. It was difficult to ignore that the Head Girl's attire was a little unusual - the white shirt, seemingly two sizes too small, was stretched across her front in a spectacularly revealing fashion, made the seventh-year look like she had stepped off the cover of a particularly lusty romance novel.

'Wherever did she find this blouse?' the young woman in question asked the man, who was now pacing the carpet and muttering about budget meetings and investors. She lifted one side of her robes indicated to her garment. 'I can hardly breathe in it.'

The director glanced at her. 'The Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy writers sold it to us cheap. They said it would make even the most flat-chested boy look like a C-cup. It should do wonders for our ratings – and the reviewers drool over sexy attire. Our marketing people have said that it could result in 217% increase in viewership if we add lacy under-things.'

Hermione frowned. 'But I'm wearing my normal pants.'

'Not you,' he answered, jerking his head sharply towards the other woman on the set. '_Her._'

Seemingly absorbed in the script that she was now busy proof-reading, Minerva flushed a faint pink and shifted self-consciously on her seat.

There was the sound of a door opening and footsteps, and every head in the room turned as one towards the newcomer. A harried-looking woman had rushed onto set with an assortment of combs and spray bottles in her arms and a large bag over her shoulder full of what looked to be electrical devices.

'_There_ you are –' the director snarled at her. '- What took you so long?'

'I was on the Snape set – sorry,' she said distractedly. 'What did you need? I'm getting low on whipped cream – that's the Grindledore sequel, they're going through _pints_ of the stuff. We're also down to our final two pairs of stockings – you can blame that old librarian for that. Planch? Pinch?'

'Madame Pince.' Hermione corrected.

'That's the one. She and that Flich person...'

'Filch.'

'Whatever... keep on asking for them. And they're not even IN a film.' Shaking her head, the woman paused in her rummaging and frowned at the director. 'I'm getting side-tracked, _what_ was it you wanted?

'One of those Snapping-On-Cue elastics,' he answered, jabbing a thumb in the Scottish witch's direction. 'The bloody things just keep on breaking at the slightest hint of sexual tension.'

The woman abruptly stopped rummaging in her bag. 'We're out –', she said, glaring in Minerva's direction. 'I just used my last one on Lucius Malfoy.'

'Well, do _something_ to her hair!' the director said, waving his hands. 'It needs to look dramatic! The hair is the key element! This whole ship hinges on the transformation from strict teacher to sex goddess!'

Grimly, the woman pulled a wide toothed comb out of her bag and marched towards the Transfigurations professor, buckling a bag of hairdressing accessories around her waist like a gun belt. Minerva returned the woman's glare full force, and her hand twitched towards the pocket of her robes before she curled it into a white knuckled, but empty, fist.

Satisfied that at least one thing was going to be accomplished that evening, the director returned to happily shouting instructions at the camera crew while waving his arms around to add emphasis.

'You know, I do have my NEWTs to study for.' Hermione spoke up, now tugging at her skirt. The dark garment barely hit mid-thigh and seemed to be perpetually slipping upwards. 'And Harry and Ron need me to look over their Potions essays before they're due on Thursday.'

'Don't bother,' said the hairdresser loudly, who was now wielding a blow drier the size of a small aircraft turbine about the Scottish witch's head. 'They're having a private 'tutorial' with Snape as we speak. They won't be done for hours yet – the red-head keeps on forgetting his lines. He just moans.'

'Moans?' The Head Girl looked confused. 'I don't understand. Why would Ron be moaning in a tutorial?'

The woman flicked the blow drier's off switch and stared at the nineteen-year-old, seemingly amused by her apparent innocence.

'Oh God, don't stop...harder, harder, Harder!' she mimicked in a fairly passable imitation of Ron's voice. 'More, Professor, more! _MAKE_ me understand! Teach me more! Teach us both! Fill me with your knowledge!'

'Oh.' Hermione's cheeks had turned a deep hue of red, her mind finally filling in the blanks.

'I'd kill for a cup of tea,' said Minerva to no one in particular.

The witch had finished editing her copy of her lines and was now tightening the lid on the pot of red ink, the quill lying in its holder. The story, penned out on the back of the script, was now a page long, detailing a short greeting, a half-hour lesson on the basics of animagus transformations and a brief discussion afterwards about potential tutoring for a fifth year who needed last-minute help on his OWLs prep. The revised film ended with the Head Girl leaving for the Gryffindor common room at 9:43. All mentions of previously romantic inclinations between Hermione and herself had been violently scratched out in red ink. A large letter T had been placed on the first page to punctuate the degree of Minerva McGonagall's animosity towards the original writer.

The hairdresser swore loudly when Minerva spoke and snarled at the woman to hold still, and the director shook his head firmly. 'You can't have hot liquid, it's almost time for your solo. We wouldn't want you to strain your vocal cords.'

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

'You expect me to sing?' Minerva said frostily, her emerald green eyes sharper than ever.

'Just a short lullaby...'

'Whatever next? Tap-dancing perhaps? Juggling a family of hedgehogs while blind-folded? I'm a _teacher_, not a one-ring circus.'

'Now Professor McGongagul...'

'McGonagall!'

'...Dumbledore said that you'd cooperate with us.'

Minerva fixed him with a look that countless Hogwarts students had learned to recognize and fear.

'Albus Dumbledore and I are going to have a long chat about..._is there any need to pull my hair that hard you sadistic cow?_'

The hairdresser ignored her, preoccupied with aggressively arranging Minerva's hair with a comb and a can of hair product. The director, bored with the trivial concerns of his characters, had turned away again from the star of his film and was now regarding the bookshelves lining the room with a critical eye.

'You know, it's the ambiance that just isn't right in here,' he said, looking strangely thoughtful. 'Maybe the whole Scottish-Manor-in-the-Highlands thing might be a better choice after all, this room might be almost _too_ academic. And deer heads on the wall would be a subtle hint at the sexual agenda to come. Maybe we can revise the script to an invitation to stay at her summer home and proceed from there.'

'Miss Granger.'

Minerva's voice had become oddly calm.

'Professor?'

'As you clearly concerned about being prevented from preparing for your NEWTs, and as this is officially _intended_ to be a tutorial session, would you kindly demonstrate Phippilotes's Second Folly to me?'

'On?'

The elder witch gave her a level look.

'Very well, Professor.' Hermione fished her wand out of her bag – her clothing was clearly too tight to conceal it in – and made a graceful series of flicks and dips in the air.

There was a puff of coloured smoke and collective gasp from the film crew as the fog lifted and a brown rabbit now sat where the director had been a mere moment earlier. The gigantic hair dryer fell to the stone floor with a surprisingly loud clank as the now open-mouthed hairdresser realized what had happened to her employer.

Minerva regarded her student's handiwork with an arched eyebrow.

'Excellent, Miss Granger, perfectly executed. If I may say so myself, I do believe that you are well up to achieving an Outstanding in all of your NEWT subjects, but your Transfiguration abilities are particularly skilful.'

Hermione beamed.

'Now,' Minerva said, standing up and striding over to the rabbit-that-had-until-recently-been-a-director, picking the creature up by its legs so that it hung upside-down.

'You will desist with this silly creation immediately.' Minerva told the mammal firmly. 'Romance is _not_ achieved in the space of three pages of semi-illiterate dialog. I will not partake in this folly, even if – EVEN IF – Albus Dumbledore himself granted you permission to do so. Should you continue to harass me, or my students, I shall ensure that your remaining years shall revolve around the search for carrots rather than cinematic acclaim. Have I made myself perfectly clear?

The rabbit kicked out with its large hind feet.

After one last scorching look, Minerva set it back on the ground. With a deft flick of her hand, as through she was waving away an irritating insect, the rabbit abruptly turned back into his natural, albeit wild-eyed and obviously rattled, form.

'Out,' the witch growled at them in a deep contralto, pointing a finger at the door to her office. 'And take that bloody muggle air-device, and that absurd furry sound-boom-thing with you.'

It was alarming how quickly the director managed to vacate his team and their equipment from Minerva's office, camera trolleys and all. As he left, the man mumbled something about having some post-production work on a Grubblyplank/Bones art-house film to catch up on.

Once the last high-wattage light stand had been wheeled out of the office, the Transfigurations teacher turned to her pupil with a frown. Her stern look wasn't nearly as effective with her hair unbound and windswept by the hair dryer.

'Now, Miss Granger.'

'Professor?'

'I believe that we need to discuss the Hogwarts' dress code.'

'Oh.'

'That's a startlingly inappropriate blouse you're wearing.'

'It is, Professor,' the younger woman agreed, flushing a little, attempting to pull her school robes over the exposed part of her bosom.

'And it looks quite uncomfortable.' Minerva observed, stepping closer to the brunette.

'Oh yes.' Hermione said softly, glancing down at the carpet so as not to have to meet her teacher's stern gaze. 'It is.'

One of the taller witch's hands had brushed up against the lapels of Hermione's pale shirt and the young brunette closed her eyes.

'Shall I help you out of it?' the woman said gently.

Hermione nodded slowly, eyes half-lidded.

'You know,' the Head Girl whispered, her breathing becoming shallower as the slim fingers drifted down her front, gently unfastening button after button. 'That director would give his right arm to film this.'

'Oddly enough, I'm not in any mood to invite him back in,' Minerva purred out, reaching the end of buttons on Hermione's shirt and slipping the young woman out of it. Her eyes were now a cat-like amber and were glowing with emotion. 'I don't care what Albus threatens me with, if I ever set eye on that odious little man again, he will find himself with much longer and furrier ears.'

Hermione had opened her eyes and was now frowning as she met her teacher's gaze.

'You still have those colour-changing contacts in, don't you?'

'I'll take them out after,' the woman murmured.

'What colour _are_ your eyes, actually?'

'I have absolutely no idea. When did you become a blonde?'

'I blame...' Hermione gasped as soft lips trailed over a bared shoulder. '...blame...that actress in the movies.'

'Emily Wilson?'

'Watson. That's the one.'

Minerva waved her hand negligently and the young woman's hair reverted to its original, unaltered colour.

'My apologies, my dear, but you aren't a very convincing blonde.'

The Head Girl's lips curled into a slight smile and she whispered. 'Now, speaking of unexpected changes, what's this I hear about lingerie?'

Hermione's hand had found its way into her teacher's robes and Minerva stiffened.

'Darling?'

'Mmm?' the younger woman mumbled against the professor's neck.

'This fic is rated T for teen. The author doesn't do M's.'

The brunette's hand froze, mere inches from a certain lace-covered region of Minerva's body that would get their story banned by the moderators.

'Bugger.'

With a groan of frustrated irritation, Hermione reached over to her bag and fumbled for a small scrap of parchment. She scribbled on it with a quill before pasting it across the reader's computer screen, casting the scene into darkness.

There was sound from the now visually deficient scene that was midway between a purr and a female sigh of pleasure.

It had taken a few moments for the monitor to adjust, but the thin writing finally came into focus.

_The End_...(for _you__)_


End file.
